Legacies of SAW
by ProjectXii1
Summary: One test, involving a man, a car, and a desperate situation. NOTE: Written long before Saw III.
1. Test 1 Part 1: Vehicular Imprisonment

**Legacies of SAW**

**Test 1 Part 1: Vehicular Imprisonment**

Jason Donovan awoke slowly, as if coming out of a deep dream. Shadows of grey and black swam behind his eye lids, and when he at last gathered the strength to open them, only darkness greeted him. His brain struggled to activate its processes; he felt sluggish and strangely fatigued. Even his eyeballs felt raw and irritated. Cautiously he looked to his left and right, trying to figure out where he was as his night vision slowly improved. He almost panicked when he found he couldn't move, but as realisation dawned, he relaxed.

Jason was strapped securely in his car, somewhere in the dark. 'What the hell had he done last night?' his awakening mind thought. Did he get wasted? Attempt to drive? Fall asleep at the wheel? Nah… couldn't have. He would remember something.

He could make out the outlines of his cars interior now; the familiar leather seats, the snazzy steering wheel and the custom designed dash. Jason let out a sigh, feeling the tension from awaking in what he thought was a strange place, draining from his body. He was almost smiling as he reached down to unclip the seat belt.

Though he knew where he was – in the luxury cab of his ultra cool vehicle – he was still troubled by where this ultra cool vehicle was now located. 'Oh god,' he hoped, 'please don't let me have fallen asleep and hit a tree or something. I can't afford it, one accident a week is enough.' He pressed his face close to the driver's side window and peered out.

Darkness. Only darkness. Shuffling to the passenger side, he did likewise. Nothing on that side either. In fact, aside from a faint glow coming from the dash, the whole car seemed to be enveloped in a lightless vortex. Where the _hell_ was he? Had he parked in his garage and not made it out for some reason? Jason shook his head, and decided he really didn't care. He'd just open the door, get out, and grope around till he found something. Leaning back over the driver's side, he put his hand under the door handle, and gave it a tug.

Searing pain pierced his fingers, and he pulled his hand away screaming. Dark liquid squirted from Jason's fingertips, hitting the windshield and side window. He couldn't help but cry out again, seeing the deep slices that had been cut perhaps three centimetres into his flesh. The pain was unbearable. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he quickly opened a small box beside his seat, searching through the contents.

With relief he found his windshield cleaning cloth and wrapped it tightly around his hand. It slowed the flow of blood, but not the dull throb that seemed to be spreading down his fingers and into his palm, making the muscles ache and tighten. Jason lent back in his leather seat, eyes screwed shut with concentration, jaw clenched like an iron band.

"What the FUCK?" he screamed, feeling a bit better for the outburst. Though he doubted anyone would hear him, he decided to vent some more. "What the fuck is this? Where am I? What the hell is going on?"

As expected, no reply came, but his head felt clearer. Perhaps the shock, pain and outburst had helped to shake whatever that strange fatigue was that had been shrouding his mind. He gritted his teeth and bent down, trying to see under the handle. In the dull light of the dash, something glinted back at him.

Razorblades.

Jason sat back in his seat fast, still holding his hand. His eyes were wide now, and if he'd cared to look in the revision mirror he would have seen how pale his complexion had become. Confusion crept back in his mind, and that panic that had almost gripped him from the start began to burble in the pit of his stomach.

'Shit', he thought, 'shit shit. What's going on?' He leaned over to the passengers side and tried to see under that handle. The dash glow was too weak to reach there, but he could make out the faint outline of something jagged and irregular. He wasn't going to test it.

His night vision had reached its peak now, and he could see the front interior of his car quite well. He'd already had a sneaking suspicion, and a glance towards the ignition confirmed it. The keys weren't there. Removed. More glances brought the panic higher, crawling ever further up his throat. Doors locked (central locking: ah, the wonders of the modern age), windows sealed. He was beginning to think this may not be an ordinary morning-after where-the-hell-am-I incident.

Though he was on the brink of losing it, it suddenly occurred to Jason that perhaps he should observe the source of the light on the dashboard. If there was power, perhaps there would be another way to get out of the car. Hotwire it or something. Or at least turn on the headlights. He squinted in the gloom, trying to make out the light.

"11:40" winked back at him. It was the LCD of his CD player; some how it was still active. He reached out and pressed the buttons, switching over from CD, to MP3, and finally radio. A high pitched squeal filled the car, and he winced, immediately turned the volume down.

Twiddling the tuning knobs produced much the same responses; an endless hiss of angry serpentine impersonations. He could feel frustration furrowing his brow. 'C'mon, radio should work no matter where I am!' he scowled.

"..eeeeeeessshhhhheeeeeessshhhhhesssssundersssessssssssss"

Jason froze. Was that his imagination? He turned the knob back slowly, listening below the static.

"..eeeeeesshhhheeeeunder thesssehhh"

There it was. He homed in on it, finally finding the proper frequency. It was definitely a voice, though it was so faint he had to turn the volume almost to 95 before he could hear it.

"… under… the… seat…. under… the… seat…"

Three words. Repeated over and over on some kind of loop. It gave Jason the creeps, and he soon turned the volume down to 0 when he was sure it wasn't going to say anything else important. "Under the Seat"? Well, it wasn't like he had any other choice.

Fumbling somewhat nervously below his leather seat, the fingers of Jason's good hand very quickly closed around something cold, thin and circular. It was a CD. He brought it up to the dash glow to study it. It was a perfectly innocent looking CD, and except for the words "PLAY ME" scrawled across the non-data storing side in ominous black ink, Jason wouldn't have found anything suspicious about it.

Grimacing with uncertainty, he placed the CD into his dash's entertainment system, and hit play. There were a few familiar clicks, whirrs and then that soft 'fwweeeeeeeee' sound as the CD started to spin. And seconds later, the voice followed.

"_Hello Jason,"_ it said, flowing out of his surround sound system from all sides. It was a very low, slightly terrifying voice, altered through some kind of electronic process to give it an inhuman warbling effect. It sent chills down his spine, and beads of sweat formed instantly on his forehead. This could only mean trouble.

"_Hello Jason. You don't know me, but I know you. I know all about you. And I want to play a game."_


	2. Test 1 Part 2: Hit and Fun

**Test 1 Part 2: Hit and Fun**

"_I want to play a game, Jason. If you win, you get to live. If you lose, you're time in this world will have ended. There are rules, Jason, and if you want to win, you better listen carefully."_

Jason swallowed hard. He was pressed firmly into his leather seats now, eyes wide and bottom lip quivering uncontrollably. This was madness, and it was infecting him.

"_Are you listening, Jason?"_

He nodded, unsure if he really was being watched or if voice on the CD was just toying with him.

"_Good, because first I'm going to tell you why, Jason. Why you've been incarcerated inside the vehicle you've come to love so much."_ There was a pause, followed by what sounded like a distorted chuckle. _"Ironic, isn't it? That the place where you feel most alive could very well become your coffin? Ah, Jason, I've watched you a long time now. Seen how you waste your time, your money, "pimping out your ride" as you put it, all in the name of vanity. The desire for strangers to think highly of you is an odd human trait, don't you think? But vanity isn't the worst of the sins."_

Jason, who till now had been too scared to react, had allowed himself to come down off the seat. Now he was leaning forward, closer to the speakers. So far the voice hadn't said anything of real importance, but he didn't want to miss a word. His life could depend on it.

"_Think back, Jason. Think back to your mother. What are the chances that she would be alive today if you had given in, sold your car, and purchased the expensive equipment she required to survive with her damaged kidneys and liver? 75? 80? Though I'm sure you've talked yourself out of any blame and guilt, I'm willing to bet that the thought has crossed your mind. Instead of saving a life, you kept the car – a replaceable, inanimate object - just so you could feel better about yourself. Whether you choose to believe it or not, you are…a murderer."_

Jason's mouth was wide open now, a shocked 'O' of blackness in the pasty white of his face. The man on the CD knew so much… so much about him. And the accusations. Him? A murderer? What right does the sick fuck who kidnapped him have to call him that? He'd be furious if he wasn't so terrified.

"_Two nights ago, you committed a hit and run. A small boy, age 10, ran out in front of your car to retrieve a thrown toy. You were speeding excessively. You hit him. He fell to the side walk. You didn't even stop to see if he survived. Is this all ringing a bell, Jason?"_

It was, but Jason remained silent. He could clearly see the surprise on that small face, hear that sickening crunch his bumper made as it collided with the boys waist and knees. He'd just been… so scared. What else was he supposed to do? It was late afternoon, no one else was around. Obviously he'd been wrong.

"_Well, Jason, that boy did survive. However, he is now a recovering quadriplegic, confined for the rest of his young life to a wheelchair and bed, being looked after by others. That's two lives, Jason, two lives you have single-handedly destroyed. It's time you learned the value of life, and to redeem yourself for the sins you have committed. Here come the rules, Jason."_

Jason leaned in closer, ready to find out what this twisted… game… was all about.

"_Your goal is to escape your car. There is more then one way to do this. None of them will be possible without a significant amount of pain, however. I bet you're wishing you hadn't spent so much money on those reinforced windows now, ay Jason? I guess it will come down to how much you value your wrists, as you will find nothing else substantial enough to break them inside the car. The doors hold secrets of their own: if you have tried them already, you know what I mean, if you haven't, I commend your perceptiveness."_

Jason glared down at his lacerated fingers, the windshield cleaning cloth drenched in blood. He never was overly perceptive.

"_You may use any method you like to escape the car: use the horn and honk for help if you like. But, bear in mind that cars hold a limited battery charge, and you don't have the ignition key. You're draining it right now, just listening to this CD." _

Jason gulped. This was true, and there was no telling for how long the entertainment system had been turned on while he was asleep.

"_The next rule is time. Your car is currently parked in the centre of a wreckers warehouse. No doubt it is too dark for you to see outside, but rest assured; on either side of your car lays two large crushing pistons, both programmed for automatic start at exactly 12:00 am. I sincerely hope you awaken before this time, but I'm sure you will. The sedatives I gave you were only in mild dosage." _

Jason glanced at the flashing LCD clock. "11:45". How lucky he awoke in time. Somehow it didn't seem like a glorious victory.

"_The good news is: once the pistons start, the lights will come on and you will see what can be seen. From there, you have 3 minutes before the pistons reach your car and you will be unable to move it. You'll want to have escaped by then or… well, you know the rest."_

He sure did. It would be Jason-a-la-Sardine, freshest catch of the week. And his car would make a very nice fifty two thousand dollar tin.

"_If you wish to start the car, know that there will be trials with that too. One you will find out for yourself, the other I will tell you for free. The car is on chocks, so remember that you're going to need an awful lot of power to get it over them. And one last thing; the location of the ignition key. Remember this clue: the key is to look past yourself, Jason. Look past yourself, your vanity, for once in your life, and freedom may be closer then you think. Good luck, Jason. X marks the spot."_

The CD finished spinning, and Jason was left in silence. The eerie voice of the man who had abducted him and forced him to play this sick game still gnawed at his mind though, taunting him over his past misdeeds. "11:46" the blinking LCD said. Time was slipping away. He wasn't going to let this psycho beat him. How hard could it be to escape a car?


	3. Test 1 Part 3: Hunting for Clues

**Test 1 Part 3: Hunting for Clues**

Jason sat in near darkness, staring at the LCD. "11:46, 11:46, 11:46," it blinked. And suddenly it changed. "11:47". Funny that.

"Shit," Jason said aloud. "Guess I should start looking."

His first thought turned him to the window. Surely it couldn't be that reinforced. But then, he did recall it was supposed to stop a steel baseball bat with a fair amount of angry thief behind it. The glass would shatter and spider web, true, but it was specially designed to do little more then that. Besides, was he willing to take that risk?

This car cost him a fortune. He'd had it since he was 16. Did he really want to go smashing it up? He thought not. Besides, the voice on the CD said there were many other ways to get out. Maybe one of them would mean escape without destroying his possession in the process. He turned away from the window; trying to think back on the rules he'd been told.

What were the important pieces? Honk for help? The battery is draining? Secrets in the doors? Which clue could he actually use here? He decided to investigate the unknown, starting with the back seat. Perhaps there was something there he could use?

Crawling out of the driver's side, he squeezed between the two seats and tried to scan the back. Darkness. His body blocked the minimal glow of the LCD. He'd just have to take the risk. Pushing through head first, he landed softly on the smooth leather coverings of the back seats beyond, and quickly sat up. Everything felt right so far, and the small night vision he had didn't reveal anything… nasty. He began to grope around, searching for something. Anything.

The seats proved to be empty, much to his disappointment, but he wasn't about to give up. Something had to be back here. The CD Sicko didn't seem like the kind of guy to not make use of 'wasted space'. Suddenly, in answer to his thoughts, his sneaker kicked something hard. The soft 'tinkle' as it rolled away told him it was a bottle. He swiftly bent down to scoop it up.

Holding it up in the faint LCD light, he could clearly make out what type of bottle it was. A beer bottle, and not just any kind. His favourite. For a second a glimmer of hope filled his stomach; man, he'd kill for a beer right now. But the lack of weight and swishing liquid inside quickly snuffed that glimmer out. No beer in there… cruel bastard…though, maybe there was something else.

He tipped it up, shaking the bottle about and listening for noise. As he expected, something fell out into his palm; a piece of paper, neatly tied into a nice cylinder. His fingers trembled slightly as he began to undo it. He quickly glanced at the time as he was doing so.

"11:49"

Fully unfolded, Jason lent back into the front cabin, trying to make out the writing scribbled on the paper. It was spidery, as if written by someone weak. The words did not further the image, however.

"_Alcohol,"_ it stated, "_just one substance people who don't appreciate life use to escape there everyday reality. Though it will not help you escape today, Jason. But there is another substance, one just as evil and addictive as this, that may help you with that little problem. Tick tock, Jason. Let's see how smart you really are."_

Another substance? Another addictive drug? How the hell was that going to help him? Shit, did this whacked out freak go and stuff some kind of narcotic in the car for him to find, so that if he couldn't escape he could still be too high to care when the pistons mashed body into a bloody pulp? It'd been years since he'd touched shit like that anyway; he had no idea if his body could still handle it.

'11:50, 11:50, 11:51. Times running low. Drugs, drugs, lets see how smart you really are.' The thoughts in Jason's head continued in an unstoppable stream. 'Evil and addictive, escaping reality. Tick tock, times up. How smart, how smart…'

Suddenly something clicked. Perhaps he was aiming to high. Perhaps it wasn't a serious or illegal drug he should be thinking of. Maybe something more common, like alcohol? His eyes drifted to the CD player, and then down. The ash tray.

Cigarettes. Evil and addictive. There was something in the ash tray! He lunged forward and grabbed the tray, ripping it clean from it seating. Nothing but a cloud of powdery grey came out, and it was all he could do to keep from throwing it on the floor and messing up his car. He placed it carefully back in its holding.

'It's cool, dude,' his own voice comforted inside his head. 'It was a good idea.'

But perhaps he hadn't been wrong? He had other ash trays, ones he never used and had forgotten about because he was always driving! Jason quickly swung around to the back of the driver's seat, feeling along the back for the elusive flip-down ash tray. He found it fast, opened it up, and felt around inside.

Nothing. Shit. Oh well, one to go. He shuffled over the other side and did the same procedure. Sticking his fingers into the hole, they immediately came in contact with something cold and shapely. A key!

"Yeesss!" he cried, "Fuck yeah! Come to daddy." He grabbed it out and crawled back into the driver's seat. "We have go, baby, yeah!"

But his heart sank inches from putting the key into the ignition. This was not that key. It was much smaller, and of an odd shape. He sank back in his seat and stared with despair at the flashing LCD.

"11:52, 11:53, 11:53"

Goddam it. Perhaps it was time for a change of tactic. Again he looked at the window. Was it worth it? Should he really try and smash his way out? He looked at his bleeding hand and then at the reinforced glass. 'Yes,' he decided, 'I do value my wrists.' He knew there'd be little to no chance of breaking it with his hands, and he'd only inflict a great amount of pain and injury on himself if he tried. He'd have to use something else. Something stronger.

Legs are stronger.

The thought had barely crossed his mind; he was already in the passenger's side seat, bracing himself against the door and tucking his legs in close. He paused for as second, looking at the glass and asking himself again: 'Is it going to be worth it?" The answer that came back was 'yes'. He closed his eyes and grimaced.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered.

CRACK

Back jarring shock shot up his legs, and his head slammed forcefully into the passenger door. He gasped for breath, then glanced at the window. It had spider webbed, but was still very much intact. He'd have to try harder.

CRACK. A little more. CRUNCH THUD THUD. The glass was bending outwards. He continued to pummel it, becoming more frenzied with his attacks.

"Come ON!" he screamed. "Break you bastard!"

There was a sudden grinding noise, and the window moved no more. It had jammed somehow, and the special reinforcement was not going to break any further. Not for his feet, anyway. Jason howled in frustration and kicked his steering wheel instead.

HONK, came the response, almost scaring him out of his wits. He'd set of the horn by accident. He stared at the steering wheel, a line of the rules churning through his head.

"… _use the horn and honk for help if you like. But, bear in mind that cars hold a limited battery charge, and you don't have the ignition key…_

Fuck the ignition key, the sick bastard probably never even put it in the car. And fuck the battery to. What did he really need it for? In…

"11:55, 11:55"

… 5 minutes the pistons would start and he'd have no where to drive anyway? Time to see if anyone was around to help.

HONK!… HONK HONK HOOOOOONNNNNNNKK! "Somebody? ANYBODY! HELP! HEELPP!" HONK! HONK HHOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNKK…

Jason kept his palm pressed firmly on the steering wheel, teeth grinding with fear and anger.

…OOOOOONNNNNNNNNnnnnnnkk…

He noticed the drop in volume very quickly. Jesus, the battery really was low. He took his hand away and listened. Surely someone had to have heard that. Surely. It was as loud as all hell.

But no one came. Even though the sound must have been amplified quite dramatically but the warehouse itself, midnight just didn't seem to be a time when people enjoyed being out and about. And he realised he wasn't as keen on wasting the battery as he first thought.

Time for a tactic change again. Back to playing the game. The small key was still gripped firmly in his palm, making an imprint of its shape in his flesh. He uncurled his hand and looked at it. What was it for? What else in his car needed to be opened with a key? Not the doors? No the ignition? What? What? WHAT!

And finally it dawned on him. There was something else, but he'd forgotten about it because he never actually locked it. The glove box, in front of the driver's side seat. He should have checked that earlier. Jason quickly crawled back over the other side, and reached for the glove box handle.

Wait. He wasn't that gullible. He needed all the fingers he could spare. Cautiously he bent down to peer under the handle, searching for a glint in the dim light. There was none.

"Phew," he sighed, and reached for the box again. He gave the handle a tug, and discovered that yes, it was indeed locked. Gripping the little key with childlike anticipation, he fumbled around for the lock, poking it here and there until it finally clicked home.

Jason paused. What was inside? A trap? Would a rattlesnake spring from the box to embed its fangs in his throat? He gritted his teeth and turned the key. Escaping would be worth the risk.

With a swift motion, he flung open the box, and then lunged over to the driver's side. Nothing followed him. There was no BANG of a spring loaded weapon. It seemed the CD Sicko had a limit to his evil trickery. Jason carefully leaned over to look in the open box, and his eyes widened at what glinted back.

A scalpel. Shiny, clean and sterile. Perfect for cutting material… or the flesh of the living. He picked it up and analysed it. There was no note attached. What was he supposed to do with this? Another line of the rules began to replay in his mind.

"_Your goal is to escape your car… more then one way to do this… none of them will be possible without a significant amount of pain, however…"_

'NO,' his mind screamed. That was not going to be an option. Sure, being crushed to death would be bad, but to slit his own throat or wrists? Unfathomable. Not only that, it was the chicken's way out. He was not going to let this freaky life-lesson teacher get the better of him; he was going to beat this game. The LCD flashed at him; mocking, doom bringing

"11:57, 11:57, 11:58."

He was going to beat this game. But he had less then two minutes left to do so.


	4. Test 1 Part 4: Escape

**Test 1 Part 4: Escape**

"Think, goddammit, think," Jason screamed at himself. "There's a way!"

He threw his head back against the seat and stared at the roof of the cab. If he ever got his hands on the freak who'd done this too him… he'd drag the guys face so far along the tarmac they'd be picking bones fragments up for miles. Jason sighed in fury and glared at the roof. Then something caught his eye.

A hole. There was a dirty fucking hole in his pristine velvet roof cover. It was in the far left corner, above the passenger side. Almost before he could stop himself he'd poked a finger into it, feeling for something inside. No pain followed, but there was nothing to find either.

"What the hell…" he mumbled, and glanced at the drivers side. There was a hole there too.

"Huh?" He turned around and peered over his seat. Two holes were barely visible above the left and right side of the back seat as well. What the hell was going on with that? And what's more, he noticed a final one in the centre of the velvet. Five in all.

"Is this part of the game? Something… I missed?" The final words of the CD Sicko struck him like a blow to the head. Quickly, he leant back in the driver's seat and pulled a handle on the side. The seat immediately began to move backwards, the headrest slowly descending towards the back. He felt like he was in a dentist chair.

When the chair at last lay almost horizontal, he pointed his hand in the air, and began to trace lines between the dots. From one side to the other, each one going through the centre.

" _Good luck, Jason. X marks the spot." _Jason wasted no time.

He began to slash at the ceiling with the scalpel, shredding the soft velvet, no longer with any regard. Soft pieces of material rained down around him, like snow or the feathers of dieing doves. He didn't care anymore, his time was almost up. He just wanted to escape, just wanted to get the hell out of…

His eyes widened in shock. The message written on the roof in bold black writing stomped on his hope like so much fine china. It was the end of the line, and he'd screwed it.

"_Congratulations, Jason. You have successfully wasted most, if not all, of your time, following a pointless charade. Rather then looking past yourself, your vanity, like the original clue I gave you, you preferred to take the long way around and avoid it as always. Your time is up, Jason. Game Over."_

"NNOOOOOO!" Jason screamed, "NO NO NOOOO!" And in response to his cries, bright lights suddenly blared through car windows. He shielded his eyes from the sudden sharp pain, and bared his teeth.

"No..." he said again, weakly. He winced and peered out the windows, scared but desperate to see what was out there. Two massive metal walls lay on either side of him, just as the CD had described. His car was parked between them, a long corridor of empty space in front of it. The metal piston-walls ended perhaps a hundred meters down; if he got out and ran, he could easily make it.

But he couldn't get out. He squinted at the LCD, at the number flashing there.

"00.00" Zero hour. Midnight. And the roar of starting machines told him what was soon to come.

In his final three minutes, Jason may have been all too happy to sit back and accept it. He'd failed the game. He was pathetic, a life wrecker. But if it hadn't been for the intense self-loathing he'd suddenly been overcome by, he may have never looked in the mirror.

Bloodshot, angry eyes stared back at him from the cars revision mirror. Pasty white skin only enhanced the dark rings below them. His hair was a mess, his lip bleeding from being chewed. How long did he used to spend in front of these things, trying to perfect his appearance? "A cool car needs a cool look," he used to tell himself. Now the voice in his head was telling him something different.

"The CD Sicko was right," Jason-in-the-mirror exclaimed, "you are vain. Never thinking of anyone but yourself. Look at you now; a wreak, about to be crushed up with all the other wrecks. You deserve it."

"SHUT UP!" Jason screamed. His eyes were filling with tears, making his vision blurry. Jason-in-the-mirror was wavering, becoming ghostly.

"You know it's true. You're vain… so vain... always looking at yourself… always caring so much about what others think when they look at you… always… looking… at…"

"Myself," Jason suddenly breathed. "I'm looking at… myself?" And what's more, he was beginning to look past himself now, the Jason-in-the-mirror fading through the tears. The mirror… look past yourself... your vanity… Jesus CHRIST!

Without moment's hesitation, Jason smashed his good fist into the revision mirror. It shattered instantly, and out of the alcove behind it, the ignition key tumbled into his lap. The squeal of pistons was deafening his ears now, the LCD blinking "00:01".

"Go, go, GO!" he screamed, leaping into the drivers seat and plunging the key into its slot. The car gave a purr, a soft click, and then stopped. The battery was almost flat.

"No, move you fucker, MOVE" Jason screamed. He turned the key again. The engine spluttered. "C'mon, c'MON!" The engine whined, coughed, and suddenly roared into life.

"YES!" he screamed with delight. He pressed his foot to the gas, and all of a suddenly the cabin was filled with noxious fumes. Jason's eyes immediately began to water, and he broke into a coughing fit.

"_If you wish to start the car, know that there will be trials with that too… one you will find out for yourself… the car is on chocks… you're going to need an awful lot of power to get it over them…"_

Mother FUCKER! The bastard somehow rigged it so that the exhaust pumped into the cabin instead of outside. If the pistons didn't get him, he was going to asphyxiate. The sadistic asshole!

But Jason had no choice now. He had to get over the chocks, he had to escape. Covering his mouth with his clothed hand, he put pedal to the metal and gave it all he got.

"CURMON!" he screamed through muffled cloth. The car rose a few centimetres, then stuck. Jason put his hand on the gearstick, switched it to reverse, and hit the gas again. The car flung backwards, up again, and stuck.

'Do it for me this time, baby,' he thought, putting it back into drive. He hit the accelerator, the car jerked forward… and over the chocks.

David whopped with victory, even though the fumes in the car had reached such dangerous levels that he was about to pass out. The car tore down the corridor between the pistons, scraping the sides as Jason struggled to stay conscious.

On the LCD, though he could no longer see it, numbers were flashing.

"00:02…. 00:02…00…03"

As the front half of the vehicle exited the crusher, the two pistons clamped onto the back, halting it in its tracks. Jason, who had neither the thought nor the time to place his seatbelt on earlier, did not stop. His body rocketed forward, following the immense propulsion the car had been travelling at, and struck the windshield.

The shear force of Jason's head hitting the glass rendered him unconsciousness instantly, which in a way was lucky, because his journey had not yet finished. The reinforced glass was no much for such a collision, and Jason's head smashed through in a shower of crystals. His shoulders followed, as did the rest of his body.

Jason sailed nearly seven feet before hitting the ground. He bounced twice on the warehouses hard concrete floor, skidded to a sickening halt, and lay still. Blood flowed from multiple lacerations, and his shoulders bent at a strange angle. Even so, breathe still passed his lips. He was alive, but he'd be a long time awakening.


	5. Test 1 Final Part: End Game

**Test 1 Final Part: End Game**

Jason Donovan awoke slowly, as if coming out of a deep dream. Shadows of grey and black swam behind his eye lids, and when he at last gathered the strength to open them, something strange greeted him.

He was lying sideways, his vision parallel to the concrete. Light was filtering in through some source high above, illuminating a puddle of bright red oozing out around his head. But that wasn't the strange part. The strange part was the face staring back at him.

It was the face of a doll; a ventriloquist doll. Its skin had been painted in white, and red spirals covered its cheeks. Long black ahir came down over its forehead, almost obscuring, but not quite, the blood red eyes. They stared at each other for a long time. Jason wondering what the hell had happened, why he couldn't move, and where the doll had come from. Who knows what the doll was thinking.

It wasn't long, however, before it shared that with him. Its wooden mouth parted, and the voice of the CD Sicko soon followed.

"_Hello, Jason,"_ it exclaimed in that low, electronically altered voice. _"Congratulations: you're alive. You passed the test."_

Jason's eyes widened as the events of that night flooded back to him. His lips quivered with effort.

"Nnnnggg… uunggggggg," he burbled.

"_You've survived, Jason, but it seems the Gods have been mysterious in their choice of reward. I'm no doctor, but I'd say those fractured vertebrae are almost going to guarantee paraplegia. Or at the very worst: quadriplegia. But don't worry. I've called an ambulance. They should be here soon."_

Jason continued to gargle, trying to force words from his throat.

"_Unfortunately , there isn't much room in hospitals these days. Looks like you're going to be sharing a room with another patient. A small boy, age 10, a victim of a hit and run three nights ago. I'm sure you two will have plenty in common."_

The dummy paused, mouth agape, displaying an infinite blackness.

"_Goodbye, Jason Donovan. And, thanks for playing."_

Jason summoned his energy, and his lips parted. And finally, he screamed.


End file.
